


Humiliatum

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-04
Updated: 2006-03-03
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8076748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Someone is exposing the crew's deepest secrets. But who is responsible for their torment? Can any of us truly bear exposure? Prequel to "Life Goes On." Tucker/f. (01/13/2006)





	1. Exposure

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

The bridge of the Starship Enterprise, despite any misconceptions held by 'ground grippers' on Earth, is not an overly exciting place. True, it has its many moments, when a new discovery is made or some new race (frequently hostile at first) is encountered. But on the whole, it is not a stressful environment, and one could go for days without anything exceedingly interesting happening.

Presently, Enterprise was traveling at warp 3 and was a week away from a stressful first contact with a warrior race of Capella IV and two days out from having explored a planetary system consisting of only three gas giants. It had been interesting to the many scientists aboard, but not 'earth shattering'. They were now on a course for a binary system that sensors indicated contained a 'Minshara Class' world, so hopes were high for some interesting discoveries. They would find out in three days.

In the meantime, Captain Jonathan Archer and his bridge crew were performing their many duties, as were their Alpha shift fellows throughout the ship. However, Archer would have more preferred the opportunity to read a good book. He stood up, taking a moment to stretch his tired muscles after sitting in the command chair for nearly three hours, and stepped over to Tactical, which was manned by Lt. Malcolm Reed.

"Anything interesting, Malcolm?"

"Well, sir, we're approaching a small collection of asteroids to starboard. I've been upgrading the tracking controls on the aft phase cannon. I wouldn't mind a few moments of target practice as we pass, just to see that I've gotten the alignment right."

Archer tried to hide a smile, realizing he should have seen it coming. For a moment he considered, but only for that moment. At warp 3, they would quickly be beyond the weapon's limits. "Sure. See how many you can hit before we're out of range."

Malcolm grinned. "Thank..." His eyes flickered from Archer's and the smile died on his face.

No one else had been speaking on the bridge, and the sounds of instruments were exceedingly low, so the Command Center could actually be said to be silent. But there was a real, tangible difference between the normal quiet on the bridge and the utter silence that accompanied Reed's change of expression. "Oh, my God!" He whispered.

A fraction of an instant later, even before Archer could whirl around to follow the man's gaze; the air was split by a piercing shriek. In his rapid turn, Archer's mind photographed Hoshi Sato standing at her station, hands to her mouth, eyes wide in horror even in the midst of her scream as he continued his turn, his eyes reaching the screen, his voice ready to issue all necessary emergency commands!

When he saw what was on the viewer, what had elicited Reed's shocked reaction and Hoshi's scream, he could not believe it! His mind actually rejected it at first as an illusion caused by his rapid turn, since what was displayed before his eyes, and those of the rest of his crew, was starkly unthinkable!

On the wide screen, in full three dimensional detail, superimposed over the onrushing starscape, was a larger-than-life image of Hoshi Sato. She was reclining on her right side, her body held propped up by one arm, clearly addressing someone even in the still photograph.

The shocking thing about the image was that she was utterly naked!

* * *

Archer stared at the image, stunned for about a second, then his eyes darted to the woman herself, who stood frozen at her station, hands covering her mouth to restrain another scream, and when he glanced again at the screen astonishment was replaced by outrage!

" _Turn that thing off_!" He commanded to all generally, not caring who complied so long as the offending image was removed!

It was, in fact, not removed but replaced a moment later. What replaced it was a life size view of the horrified Linguist in her own quarters, again in beautifully sharp three dimensional clarity; quite evidently having just stepped out of the cylindrical shower behind her and reaching for a towel. This time her entire body was visible in full detail as she faced the 'camera'.

"Nooo!" Hoshi cried, backing away from the offending image, her face bright red.

"I said, ' _turn that thing off_ '!" Archer's voice thundered through the bridge. He could see Travis and T'Pol each working at their stations, and could hear the controls on Malcolm's board being worked behind him.

"I can't!" Travis exclaimed in high frustration. His eyes went to the screen, and Hoshi saw it.

" _Don't look_!" She demanded, mortified.

"I am unable to interrupt the image feed to the monitor." T'Pol reported, and then glanced at the screen, having peripherally seen a change in the image. She wished she had not.

The image was of T'Pol herself, in her quarters. She was dressed for bed, in the small, silken garments most crewwomen preferred. She realized a moment later that she had evidently just awakened. She was at that instant depicted with her arms crossed before her, grasping the hem of the silken top. A moment later the image changed. The garment was pulled upward, obscuring her face but leaving her high, firm breasts quite bare. A moment later her arms were down, the garment nowhere to be seen, and she was facing toward the screen, naked from the waist up.

A moment later T'Pol's image was gone, replaced again by Hoshi's, only this time the young Japanese beauty was not alone. She was again completely naked, shown in mercilessly accurate, three dimensional detail; but this time her body was partially obscured by that of Seamus O'Cathain, and what they were doing...

Hoshi's hands couldn't restrain her shriek.

The screen went black as Malcolm, unable to stop the images, turned the power to the screen off.

The Bridge was utterly, completely, deafeningly silent.

* * *

T'Pol turned her head slowly toward Malcolm, as if she were trying to tightly control every tiny motion of her body, and when she spoke her voice was so intensely controlled it could barely be heard. "Thank you." She whispered. Malcolm acknowledged her with a slight nod.

Hoshi was still standing, staring at the blank screen, her body trembling violently.

"Hoshi, T'Pol, you are both relieved." Archer told them as kindly as he could.

Hoshi glanced at him, but could not meet his eyes. Her face was bright red. Not wasting an instant, she ran to the turbolift, stabbing at the control. The door did not open fast enough for her; she was inside before it was half open, and stood with her back to the bridge as the door cycled through and closed.

Archer looked at T'Pol, who met his eyes. "It is not necessary, Captain. My abilities would best serve in tracing the source of these...images."

No one on the Bridge had ever heard her tone so tightly controlled. Her face, her body, were held in a rigid restraint that was almost painful to see.

"The offer remains open." Archer told her. She replied with the smallest nod he had ever seen. As carefully restrained in his own way, though inside he felt a supernova exploding, he turned to Malcolm. "Work with T'Pol. _Find_ the source!"

Malcolm did not even try to hide the rage in his eyes, and his words were very, very deadly. In his mind were replayed the humiliations of his friends. "I'll find it, sir!"

* * *

Hoshi Sato stepped out of the Turbolift on C-deck, not wanting to return to the non-existent safety of her quarters, but having absolutely no _idea_ where to go! She stood by the closed door of the turbo, shaking violently.

She was shocked, embarrassed, absolutely _humiliated_! Where had those horrible images come from? What were they?! _Who_ had done this?! She was trembling so badly she could barely think! She could only see, in her mind, those horrific images and the looks in the eyes of her friends!

"Hoshi?" A woman's voice called. She forced herself to look up, seeing her closest friend Elizabeth Cutler approaching. "I was just coming to look for you." Liz stopped before her, and Hoshi just wanted to throw her arms around her friend and cling to her, realizing there was no safety there but barely able to restrain herself. "You okay?" Liz asked, concerned.

"Oh, Liz—the most _horrible_ thing has happened!" She exclaimed, her voice shuddering. "You're not going to _believe_ this!"

"Yeah, tell me about it. You okay, hon?"

Hoshi shook her head 'no', and was about to answer when Liz's words registered. 'Coming to look for you', she had said. What possible reason would the Biologist have for looking for her here near her quarters at barely eleven hundred hours; when they would not meet for lunch until at least an hour later? Unless...

Hoshi stared at her friend in mounting dread, her hand again covering her mouth to hold back the scream she felt welling up within her. Liz nodded sadly. "A few minutes ago the monitors in Life Sciences went nuts. On my way here I heard commotions in a half doz—." Liz reached out quickly, barely catching her friend as Hoshi fainted.

* * *

"Captain." Malcolm called out to Archer, who had returned to his command chair. He was out of it in a moment.

"What have you got?" He barely kept from demanding this of Reed, trying to keep his voice level.

"I can't trace back the feed." He reported grimly, then looked up from his console, catching sight of Archer's volcanic expression. "I will, but it will take time. But that's not the worst part." He lowered his eyes to his control board, continuing to work on it to interrupt whatever was happening.

"Then what is?"

Reed looked up at Archer, and his tone was the grimmest Archer had ever heard from him. "I'm getting complaints from every deck, from every department. Those images, and dozens more we haven't seen because the screen is off, are going out to every visual monitor on the ship."


	2. Infection

Jonathan Archer stepped into his Ready Room, carefully controlling his feelings. He had left the Bridge after a few frustrating minutes as the efforts of his officers met with failure after failure, and he did not want to have his mounting rage boil over onto them.

This ship's crew was still reeling from the Capellan incident just a week before, Ensign Samuels would need months to recover from what had happened to her; and now on top of that comes this latest assault—except now it was a general assault upon his crew!

He sat down at his desk, switching on his monitor, hoping to be greeted with the usual 'desktop' image of the Starfleet emblem.

The image that assailed his eyes, however, was that of Ensign Elizabeth Cutler. She was in quarters that were not her own, kneeling on a bed before someone standing beside it, someone whose face was obscured. She was completely naked and absorbed in her activity, which was utterly private!

A moment later the scene shifted, and this time shock was added to shock as he recognized the ship's Chaplain, Mother Patricia McCabe. She was not dressed in her Clerical 'uniform', or anything else! Ten seconds later, as Archer stared in disbelief, the scene changed. McCabe was still there, but she was not alone. Lt. Malcolm Reed was also present, and it was clear that their relationship was well on its way toward the resolution they had apparently hoped for, though not in any way that Archer wanted to see!

He snapped the screen off, but not without the painful knowledge that these, and scores of other scenes, were going out at ten second intervals to every station on the ship!

He had issued a ship-wide order, backed up by Security, for the monitors to be turned off. But despite his faith in his crew, he did not hold high hopes that this particular order would be universally obeyed!

* * *

Reverend Mother Patricia McCabe OSJ was in her early forties, a most striking woman with piercing brown eyes and long, flowing chestnut hair. She had always enjoyed an active life since long before entering the Seminary, and even after her Ordination as a Priest of the Order of St. John, she had not changed. She did not appear younger than her years, feeling that a woman should grow gracefully. Still, it would be many years before she would see the first touches of grey, or the first lines in her face. That is, if her dealings with a particular member of the crew did not cause a premature infliction of either of those conditions!

She had only recently been assigned to serve this Starship's crew, and on arrival had made the stunning discovery that her old love—her fianc—Malcolm Reed was also aboard. Now she tried to carefully balance her official duties with her personal life, something that was suddenly a far less easy thing than she had ever conceived. But after nearly a month, she was starting to get things into a balance. Not a comfortable one; there was no such thing as a 'comfortable balance' in any situation where Malcolm Reed was involved, but at least it was a balance.

At least there was none of the tension of her early days aboard. They seemed to have entered into an understanding that could allow both of them to grow closer than they were, if not as close as they had been, and still maintain a professional life outside closed doors.

Now on this Saturday, close to noon, she was sitting in her office, thinking. She had another appointment with Dina Samuels later today; but she was gratified to see that the woman appeared to be steadily recovering from her ordeal with the Capellans. The sermon she was going to deliver in the morning was on the handheld device in her lap, and for the twentieth time she considered the words she would try to say to her new 'flock'. She was aboard less than a month, and had barely started to settle in. Despite her best efforts, hardly more than half of the crewmen and women were beyond just acquaintances to her. It took time to get to know over eighty people, certainly well enough to know what to say to them.

She picked up the PADD, but just as she was about to key an entry into it the door behind her chimed.

Standing up, she put the PADD on her desk and stepped to the door, taking a moment to smooth her royal blue shirt and settle the cross upon her chest before touching the door control.

When it slid aside, she was surprised to see Ensigns Sato and Cutler standing beyond it. Cutler was holding Sato's arm, attempting to steady her, and the Japanese linguist looked like she had stared into Hell itself! "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mother McCabe, but..." Elizabeth began, but Patricia held up her hand.

"It's no bother. Come in."

Whatever had brought the two women to her door, Sato was shaking and looked like she was about to faint. This was no time to be haggling in the doorway. Cutler helped Hoshi in, and they got the woman seated in one of the two chairs.

"Now, what's happened?"

Sato looked up at her, and the trembling woman looked like she was about to cry.

"We didn't know where else to come." Cutler told her, which was not an answer. McCabe fixed her with a hard look, knowing she was not going to get clear answers from the shaken Linguist. "Have you looked at your monitor lately?" The scientist asked.

"No, I've been busy." McCabe answered, indicating the PADD on her desk. "Why?"

Cutler reached for the control on the desktop screen. "This is why." She turned it on.

* * *

Patricia felt her mouth fall open, but was so stunned she could not close it as she saw a three dimensional image of Mary Sherman from Engineering. The woman lay on her back, her fiery red hair a flaming riot upon her pillow. She was naked, her feet pressed into the padding of her cot pushing her hips upward, her thighs spread wide and her hand between them. On her face was a look of utter ecstasy!

"Oh my God!" Patricia breathed, unable to believe her eyes. Seconds later the image changed to another woman she knew well, Jennifer Farber from Geology. The black woman was in her quarters, or at least Patricia presumed they were hers. She had just removed her bra, which was frozen in mid flight to her bed. It had been the last stitch of clothing the woman had been wearing.

Almost off the screen, deep in the foreground, was part of an ebon body, quite definitely male. McCabe did not even need the guess the man's identity.

As Patricia stared in shock, hardly willing to believe what she was seeing on her own monitor, the image changed and Jennifer Farber was not alone. Travis Mayweather was with her, and they were engaged in a frantic encounter Patricia did _not_ want to see!

Ten seconds later this shocking image was replaced by that of the blonde Security Officer Andrea Carstairs. She was also naked, in glorious and shockingly vivid three dimensions, but she was reaching upward for one of the low ceiling supports in her quarters, clinging tightly to it. Her legs were spread wide and the front of her body was crisscrossed with red welts.

In the instant frozen in time, a leather strap had just struck hard across her stomach. It was just past her skin, and the ripples of the hard impact flashed across her body. On her face was an expression of wondrous rapture!

Liz turned the monitor off. "That has been going out all over the ship for nearly twenty minutes! Someone must have planted cameras or sensors in the quarters of every woman aboard. By now, every man on this ship has seen everything there is to see!"

"But can't they _do_ something about it?" Patricia asked, trying to keep the horror that gripped her heart from stealing her voice. If something was in her quarters, photographing her...

Liz touched the activation control on the monitor. Frozen in time, in perfect detail, Vicky Pasmore lay upon her cot under an equally nude man whose face they could not see. Hers head was thrown back and on her face was an expression of boundless ecstasy! An instant later the image was gone, replaced by Mary Tigat in much the same position, except that the body that partially covered hers was turned in the opposite direction, and that body was that of a blonde woman. Her face was hidden between Tigat's widely spread thighs even as the raven haired woman's fingers delved deeply into the blonde's most private recesses.

Cutler turned off the monitor again. "I guess they can't."

Patricia McCabe, shaken to the core of her being, crossed herself, offering a fervent prayer for the well-being of a ship's crew that was about to come apart in a truly personal Hell!

* * *

On the bridge, Malcolm Reed looked across the round Command Center at T'Pol. The Vulcan woman's expression was very carefully guarded. "That's it, then." He said grimly.

The Science Officer stood up. "We should inform the Captain."

Reed extended his hand toward the Ready Room door. "After you."

* * *

When Captain Archer admitted his First Officer and Tactical Officer, the first words out of his mouth were: "Tell me you solved this."

"In a sense, sir." Malcolm began uncomfortably. "We've identified the problem."

"The images are being carried on an invasive virus which has infiltrated our Communications system and many related facilities." T'Pol reported, saving Malcolm from having to admit their failure. "The virus makes copies of itself, each one bearing the files imbedded in its code, together with a random mutation which imbeds itself into a legitimate file. Essentially, it makes a _different_ virus each time. These mutations hide within our own software, disguised as indigenous files. We have detected and eradicated five different versions, but I estimate there may be hundreds, each one carrying the program independently, and each one unique."

"We kill one, and another takes its place." Malcolm finished. "The last one was imbedded in the replicator in the Mess Hall, disguised as a molecular synthesis for chocolate pudding."

"What about the images themselves?"

"We're tracing the source files, but it will take some time. The virus affects the code when it replicates, making it very hard to trace the original."

Whatever Archer would have said in response was cut off by the intercom. "Sick Bay to Captain Archer!" The woman's voice was rushed.

"Archer."

"Ensign Samuels, sir! Dr. Phlox is en route to crew quarters, D/89. The only report we have is that a crewman has been stabbed."


	3. A Shameful Truth

Crewwoman Mary Tigat, assigned to Security, Beta Shift, was deeply asleep in her bunk but the soul-rending cry of anguish behind her had her rolled over quickly, feet on the floor, body and mind alert and ready for battle! Her eyes instantly searched the room, finding nothing out of place except her roommate and fellow Security Officer, who was on her knees in the middle of their shared quarters, wailing in torment.

She glanced about again, the second instantaneous scan revealing nothing new. The chronometer on the wall before her imprinted the time on her consciousness; just past 1300 hours. She would have about two more hours before she had to get up for her 1600 shift. She pushed her sleep tousled black hair behind her shoulders, taking a third, more detailed look, wondering if she had missed something important, like the reason for her friend's distress!

Their quarters were unchanged, unoccupied except for Mary and the crying woman on her knees before her. She was dressed in her uniform, as opposed to Mary's somewhat rumpled nightclothes. Her roommate seemed uninjured, for what Mary could see, other than the fact that she was wailing as if her soul had been ripped from her body!

"Andrea!" She called sharply to the blonde woman almost at her feet, trying to fight down the surge of adrenaline that had launched her out of bed and into readiness for a life-or-death fight. "What the _Hell_ is going on?!"

Andrea Carstairs did not answer, but just pointed at the computer monitor screen set into the wall beside them. Mary looked, and felt all the blood drain from her face.

On the screen, in excruciating three dimensions and crystal clarity; was an image of Ensign Christine Meeth. She was naked and straddling the hips of Crewman Robert McKinski. In the instant frozen in time Christine was enthusiastically riding her partner of the evening, her entire body caught up in the throes of orgasmic delight.

Seconds later the image changed to one of Ensign Hoshi Sato, equally nude, locked in a passionate embrace with Lt. Seamus O'Cathain, their standing bodies straining together in wild passion. Seconds later this image was replaced by one just a few moments later; but this time in Hoshi's bed. The woman's body was just barely visible past O'Cathain's.

* * *

"They're going out everywhere!" Andrea exclaimed. Mary felt an icy hand grip her heart; and her legs gave out from under her as she landed on the edge of her bunk.

"What do you mean, 'everywhere'?" She gasped, horrified.

The blonde guard looked up, her face red, tears streaming down her cheeks. " _Everywhere_! They're on _all the monitors_ on the ship! _Everyone_ can see them!"

The image changed to one of a nude Andrea Carstairs herself. She was standing with her legs planted widely apart, her arms behind her back. Blue rope held her securely tied, crisscrossing her body, encircling her large breasts which were red with pressure of restrained blood. Moments later the scene changed a few seconds into the future, where her right breast was partially obscured by the black strap that had struck it hard, her flesh rippling from the heavy blow, her face reflecting her agony and her ecstasy.

Andrea had not been watching, but at Mary's unguarded look of shock, she turned and shrieked in torment, knowing everyone who was watching a monitor was seeing that image as well!

Mary bolted across the room and hit a control, turning the screen off. She stood, leaning against the wall, shaking, unable to think of what to say. She touched her forehead, finding it cold and wet. It was a long time before she could turn to her roommate, and the look in the kneeling woman's eyes was terrible to behold.

"You say the whole _ship_ is seeing that?" She asked; her voice muted to a whisper. She was so horrified she could barely think!

Andrea nodded. "I'm _ruined_!" She exclaimed. "How can I ever show my face again?"

Mary, heart pounding so hard she could barely hear her friend, couldn't answer. She was still completely overcome by the horror. She could not believe this was happening! How? Who had -?!

Turning around, her body blocking the view, she turned on the monitor again, hoping it was all just a nightmare, that she was still dreaming with three hours left for her shift—or that somehow the Command crew had gotten everything turned off!

It was well that Andrea could not see the screen, for she was again featured upon it. But this time Andrea was kneeling on her bunk, bent low, her face obscured between Mary's widely spread legs, her own hands stroking her breasts. Mary Tigat could not see her friend's face from that angle, the way it was buried deep between her own thighs, but she knew the image was of her friend. Her own face was a mask of delirious ecstasy! She remembered that day very well.

Her heart leapt into her throat at the thought of this image appearing on hundreds of other viewers, available to anyone who might have the chance to notice.

A moment later the image was blessedly gone, but replaced by one also in three dimensions and perfect clarity, this one of Commander Charles Tucker. He was standing in his quarters, completely disrobed, his body this time a treat for any woman who might be watching, if any had the nerve to endure the previous torment!

His body was partially obscured from hips down by the equally nude woman kneeling before him, her back to the camera. The woman's skin was tinted a vivid gold, her long golden hair hiding much of her back, but little more. But it was the position of her hands and head as she knelt there, and the expression on Tucker's face; that made even the obscured parts of the image clear.

Mary switched off the monitor, but her hands were shaking and her heart pounding as she turned to her friend. She was filled with such horror she had no idea what to say to the crying woman.

"Do...do they...know who..."

Andrea shook her head, her blonde hair flying. "I was assigned, with other Alpha Security, to have the monitors shut down, but everywhere I went I could see in their eyes...see in their...their _eyes_...I ran...I ran back here! I—I can't...can't go out there! _Ever_!"

Mary Tigat tried to stop her body from trembling, tried to keep the icy chill from crushing her heart, but she couldn't! "How long?" She couldn't speak above a horrified whisper.

"Two hours now!" Andrea sobbed. "At ten second intervals, _two hours_!"

Mary had not thought she could feel more horrified, but she had been wrong! "Two _hours_?! And they can't _stop_ it?!" Her friend shook her head miserably.

Mary could not keep from doing a fast mental calculation of ten second intervals over one hundred twenty minutes and she felt like her entire cosmos had opened up under her, and dropped her into a ghastly nightmare beyond imagining. "Andi—talk to me!" Nothing. She crossed the room to their shared closet, reaching for a uniform even while tugging off her nightclothes. "Come on, we have a job to do! You've been ordered to cut off monitor access."

The blonde woman looked up, her eyes haunted by a soul searing torment. "I can't! I _can't_ go out there! They know! _Everybody_ _knows_!"

Mary turned to her friend, horror mounting on horror as she realized the cause and extent of her friend's torment.

* * *

Andrea had always considered her urges, her pleasures, to be something shameful! _Normal_ women did not have desires to be hurt, to be subjugated, to be tied up and beaten to get their pleasure. It was _sick_! It was _obscene_! It was the mark of a _diseased_ personality. The masochistic lusts she had were perverted, _shameful_ , had to be kept hidden, buried away from _everyone_!

Though Mary did not share this view, she knew why her friend was so devastated.

She left the closet, stepping over and kneeling before the blonde woman, reaching out to take her arms. "Andi, listen, I know what you're feeling..." Andrea looked up at her, her eyes red with tears. "But at the risk of sounding like a clich, it's not the end of the galaxy. I know it's hard, and you're ashamed, but we can't undo what's being done to us. We can only _fight_ it! And _stop_ it! Come on. We're _Security_! We have a job to do!""

Andrea shook her head miserably. "I _can't_ fight it! It's out there! Everybody _knows_!"

* * *

Mary sighed, frustrated. "Yes, people know. I wish I could undo it, but I _can't_! They know about every woman on board this ship! All our _secrets_ , all our passions, _mine included_!" Andrea shook her head, and Mary grasped her arms more tightly, frustrated and scared and growing angry as a result. "Yes, _all_ of us! I'm a flaming _lesbian_ , for God's sake; but do you think I _care_ who knows? I never did!

"When Kathy left we didn't part on good terms _at all_! I thought we'd come to blows long before she transferred off! But even though it left me alone, you stuck by me! Neither of us have 'partners', but you and I are _partners_! You do for me and I do for you! I'm not a sadist and you're not a lesbian, but we help each other because we're all we _have_! We give strength to each other, and comfort, and we get through the loneliness! And we're going to strengthen and comfort each other through this as well!" She was relived to see her friend's eyes change, as hope once again entered them. "And if there's _anything_ good that can come of this nightmare, maybe we'll find partners we couldn't find bef -."

* * *

She was unprepared when Andrea violently shoved her. She landed on her back as the woman was suddenly on her feet, her face contorted in fury. "NO! I _can't_! There is no _way_! They know—and I can't live with the shame! _I can't live with it_!"

Mary, looking up from the floor, was more deeply horrified than ever to see a gleaming blade clutched in Andrea's hand. She hadn't seen it before as the woman had been hunched over, but now it glistened in the light. "Andi..."

Years of training helped level her voice, to keep her tone calm, cautious as she looked up at the distraught woman. "Andi, wait a second. Please." She did not try to get up, did not reach for her, reaching instead with her quiet tone and encouraging eyes. Andrea turned the blade to her own chest, and Mary fought to keep her heart from leaping into her throat. "Andi." She said very, very carefully. "Let's talk."

Andrea Carstairs did not move, and Mary took it as a hopeful sign that she did not plunge the gleaming blade into her own chest! Very carefully, very slowly, never for an instant breaking eye contact, Mary climbed to her feet. "Honey, it's not over. You don't want to do this." Mary's heart skipped a beat as Andrea pressed the point of the knife between her breasts, but did not even cut her uniform.

"I _have_ to! I can't _go_ like this!" The woman cried.

"Andi, please. Give me time." She fought to resist reaching out, fought to resist the urgency in her own heart, fought to keep her tone calm and level. She was too far away to touch her. Any motion might set the woman off. "You don't have to leave these quarters. You can stay inside. I'll fix it with Lt. Reed, with the Captain. I'll get you a transfer, quietly. You never have to see anyone. I'll get you anything you want. I swear it!"

"It won't do any good! I can't go _anywhere_ that they won't _know_! People will talk. It'll get out! I was so _careful_ , kept it secret for so _long_! No one knew, but now they'll find out! They'll know how shameful I am! It'll get back home! My _mother_...!"

"Andi..."

"No! I can't do it! _This is the only way_!" She raised the blade high and Mary leapt for her, tackling her before she could bring it plunging down into her own chest, her left hand clutching the distraught woman's wrist, holding it up and out! Andrea landed hard on her back with Mary atop her, the smaller woman clutching her forearm, pinning it down on the deck, trying to immobilize the blade without hurting her friend. She never expected the left hook that cracked into her jaw.

Andrea shoved the stunned woman off her, and only needed an instant more. By the time Mary was able to get to her knees beside her friend it was too late! The blonde woman held the blade handle tightly against her chest as blood gushed out, soaking the front of her uniform!

Knowing that seconds counted, Mary did not even try to reach for the woman, but stood and dashed for the intercom at the far wall. "Medical Emergency; Deck D, Room 89!" She exclaimed, knowing her call would be automatically routed to Sick Bay. "There's been a stabbing in crew quarters!"

* * *

In Sick Bay, Phlox and Ensign Dina Samuels, the latter on limited duty while recuperating from injuries suffered in the disastrous First Contact with the Capellans barely a week ago, were cataloguing supplies, disposing of those nearing the end of their usefulness and preparing to replicate more, when the urgent call came in. Phlox did not waste a moment, striding quickly for the doors, plucking a trauma case off a shelf as he passed. Dina reached for the intercom, acknowledging the call; then keying another channel.

Moments later, the urgent call was automatically relayed to the Ready Room. "Sick Bay to Captain Archer!"

"Archer."

"Ensign Samuels, sir! Dr. Phlox is en route to crew quarters, D/89. The only report we have is that a crewman has been stabbed." Turning off the channel, she started to gather and lay out all the operating equipment the Doctor would need, and to prepare the Sick Bay to receive a trauma patient.


	4. Solutions Bought In Pain

A half hour later Captain Jonathan Archer stepped somberly onto his bridge, stopping for a moment as the turbo door closed behind him. Every eye on the bridge turned to him.

T'Pol, Travis and Malcolm were still at their posts, Hoshi's board manned by the Beta Shift relief crewman. Standing before Malcolm's board was one of his Security Guards, whom Archer recognized as Andrea Carstairs' roommate. The woman stared at him, her tension clear even across the short distance.

He crossed that distance, focusing on Malcolm Reed, his body language and his expression kept in careful check. "Malcolm, I want those images stopped right now. Kill everything short of Life Support if you have to, but _stop_ them!"

"Aye, sir." He had already planned for this extreme contingency when his, and T'Pol's, more conservative efforts kept meeting with failures as the virus continued to exhume modified copies of itself from widely disparate systems. His hands flashed across his board, and seconds later Archer imagined he could actually hear the ship, with the exception of the Bridge, shutting down. "I've cut power to all but lighting and essential systems. All secondary, tertiary and lower systems are dead."

"Keep them that way."

"Aye, sir."

Archer looked at the woman at his right, who had kept silent during this exchange, until her Captain was ready to acknowledge her.

"Captain, how's Andi?" The woman asked, not bothering to disguise her distress.

Archer shook his head, unable to keep the grimness from his tone. "Phlox says she'll live, but she's critical."

The woman tried to hide her feelings as well as she could, but her eyes betrayed the depth of her pain. "Captain, may I please speak to you in private?" She asked very quietly. He nodded somberly; then extended his hand toward the door to his Ready Room, indicating she should precede him.

* * *

When they entered, he proceeded to his desk, and the woman came to stiff attention before him. "At ease, Crewwoman. Tigat, isn't it?"

"Aye, sir. Mary Tigat; Security, presently assigned to Beta Shift." He noticed she did not obey his 'order' to relax. He saw she was keeping herself stiff as a way of holding her own control. "Sir, permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

She swallowed hard, her voice just short of breaking. "Sir, how is Andi?"

He realized she thought he had giving her a sugar-coated version for the benefit of the crew on the bridge. "I've held nothing back. She's in critical condition, but Phlox says she'll make it. The knife pierced her lung. She'll need a long recuperation, but she's expected to live."

"Thank God!" She breathed feelingly, much of the tension flowing out of her body. But more seemed to swell up from a wellspring within her.

"The best thing you can do for her at this point is to find the one who drove her to do this to herself."

"Yes, sir." He expected her to say more, but she did not.

"Dismissed." He said finally. She made no move to follow this order either.

"Sir, may I ask a question?" He nodded. She very carefully sought how to phrase her next words, so much so that her care could not be more obvious. "Sir, Lt. Reed has informed me that this problem is being caused by a mutating virus which has latched onto some files and is forcing them to be displayed throughout the ship."

"That's right. For a time, it was hard to keep ahead of the mutations, so now we've cut them off. The files can now be located and deleted; but plenty of damage has been done to morale. I think it will be a long time before we, as a group, recover."

"Sir, I understand we, that is; Security, is on the verge of tracking down the source of the images."

"We will. Inevitably. We'll find the source." He promised her.

"If I may be so bold, Captain; I imagine that, once found, it will be very dangerous for the one who took these pictures."

* * *

Something in the woman's phrasing, in her tone, alerted Archer to her thoughts. He nodded carefully. "I think there are going to be a great many angry people out there. So yes, when the culprit is identified, I should think it will be very dangerous for him aboard this ship." He stood up, looking down into Tigat's eyes, those green orbs filled with apprehension. "But if he were to turn himself in, we can control the situation. He'd be confined until he can get a fair hearing, which I suspect would be in Starfleet Headquarters; as I doubt I will be able to find very many people aboard this ship that he has not offended."

"Yes, sir." Her voice, as she looked up into his eyes, was hushed.

"Crewwoman, do you have any idea who is responsible for what we're going through?"

"I -." She tried to answer, but her voice broke. She swallowed and tried again. "Not—not _exactly_ , sir."

Archer found himself growing frustrated as the strain of the day took its toll. "If you even have a suspicion of who took those pictures, have him turn himself in, or bring him yourself before this gets completely out of hand."

"Sir, I -."

Unable to hold himself in check any longer, thinking of the woman lying in Sick Bay with a knife wound in her chest, and painfully aware that she was not the last potential casualty, Archer's frustration overcame his patience. He took a step closer until they were virtually touching, and he looked down at the apprehensive woman, looming over her.

"All right, Crewwoman, I'll make it easy for you! You know who's responsible for those pictures! I want that person standing right here in front of me! That's an order."

"She is, sir."

* * *

Jonathan Archer stared at the woman, not certain he had heard her properly. In fact, he wanted very badly to believe he had not. He felt his blood drain away; and a chill start at his shoulders and chase down his body. She could not have said that! "What?"

Mary Tigat took a shuddering breath, and her voice was trembling. "She is, sir." She repeated; her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm responsible for them. They're my pictures."

Archer felt he had to sit back down. In fact, he needed to sit down! Turning from her, he made it back to his desk and sat down hard in his chair.

" _Yours_?!" He exclaimed finally, looking up at the woman, disbelief overwhelming everything else.

"Yes, sir."

" _Why_?!"

Mary Tigat looked down, unable to meet the man's eyes. "They were a private collection. I—I accessed the Security systems. Those cameras are in every room on the ship, but are only used in emergencies. Normally they are shut down, but I have the code—we all do." If she could have spoken any more softly, she would have. She felt like she was drowning in guilt.

"It was...was a private thing. I started accessing the system from my quarters—but it was never meant to be shown to anyone.

"But you remember Crewwoman Kathy McMahon, from Computer Control? She transferred out two months ago."

"Of course." He said, just starting to get over the shock.

"She and I were lovers. But we had a falling out, a _big_ one, a while before she left. She swore she would get even with me for...something I did. But she left and I never thought about the threat. I thought it was just...Well, she knows computers. She knows them _very_ well."

Archer rose slowly to his feet, trying with all his might to restrain his outrage. "Are you saying..." He asked with deadly quiet. "...that everything this crew has been subjected to today is because of revenge for a lover's _spat_?"

Mary nodded miserably, unable to answer.

Not trusting himself to say another word, Archer just as slowly reached for the intercom on his desk, pressing the button with great care. "Malcolm?"

"Aye, sir." The Tactical Officer answered from his station outside the door.

"Come in here." When the Englishman stepped into the room, Archer struggled to keep his voice level and quiet. "Crewwoman Tigat is under arrest—you already know why. Escort her to the brig, and put your best men on guard—provided you can find any that don't want to wring her neck!"

Malcolm Reed stared at his subordinate, so shocked he could not even find a question to ask.


	5. The Nature Of Sin

Former Crewwoman and Ex-Security Officer Mary Louise Tigat sat on the edge of the thin bunk that was the only furnishing in the left of two cells that comprised the brig. Beyond the reinforced transparent aluminum, itself an inch thick; were a small alcove and then the door to the corridor beyond. Normally there would be an inner and outer guard, but Security was stretched to the limit. The only other woman in the department was Andrea Carstairs, and only one man had been found on this shift that Reed was certain would not break Tigat's neck, so he was assigned to corridor duty.

She did not expect to see another living soul aboard the ship until the day came when she was taken away to be brought before a Court Martial Board on Earth, so she was fairly surprised when the door slid open and her erstwhile associate admitted Mother McCabe. The door slid closed behind her.

Rev. Patricia McCabe was wearing her own uniform, black trousers and a back button royal blue shirt, the collar of which was a high stiff band of white. About her neck was a blue cloth collar of the same color as her shirt, from the 'V' of which hung, before her breasts, a red Christian cross fronting a white Maltese cross. At the crosspiece was a black Temple cross, overlaid with a red banner upon which was depicted a slanted cross of gold, thus combining four emblems in one.

Draped from her shoulders was a long purple stole that reached almost to her knees, embroidered about a foot from each end with a gold crown within which was a slanted red cross. A third emblem in the middle was hidden by the woman's chestnut hair.

For a long moment neither woman spoke, until finally Patricia broke the silence. "I thought you'd like to talk." Her voice was held carefully neutral.

Mary's eyes flickered to the long purple stole the older woman wore. "Confess, you mean."

"I came prepared." Patricia said as carefully.

For a long time neither spoke, Mary staring up at the Priest through the thick barrier. The ventilation holes cut in it provided space for words to pass, but little more. "I never meant to hurt anyone." Patricia did not try to answer. "I guess _you're_ pretty mad at me too."

"I'm very angry, yes." The Priest told her; grateful for the chance to be honest even in the careful self-control she needed to keep; to allow her to perform her duty. She tried once again to push back her anger, to deal with this woman with the mercy and understanding one of her charges deserved to be shown. "I've been violated in the same way all the women on this ship, and many of the men, have been violated."

"Do you want to kill me too?"

"No child, I don't."

Mary looked at her a long time, but could not find a lie. "You know the irony? I took private pictures, but Kathy McMahon, because she was mad at me, made them public. So in a sense I'm kind of a victim too." She looked closely at the Priest. "What do you think of that?"

McCabe reached out, touched a button, and the aluminum barrier between them slid aside. Mary leaned back, apprehensive. She was very much aware that they were completely alone. But McCabe, though she stepped inside, made no move to hurt her.

"To answer that would be to judge you." The Priest told her, not willing to allow herself to give in to the satisfaction of that temptation. She touched the cross suspended at her chest, saying a silent though fervent prayer for patience. "We are taught not to judge. We're to hate the sin, but love the sinner."

Privately, Patricia had to admit it had been a long time since she had found the spirit of those words to be so hard.

"So, is that what I am?"

"Again, I'm not here to judge." She said as neutrally as she could. "What you did was wrong. If what you did was a sin, that's for you to answer. I am here to provide Absolution, if you want it; and to talk, if that's what you want. Anything you say to me cannot go further. It can't even be used at your trial."

Actually it was not that universal, McCabe admitted silently. Anything said under the Seal of Confession was sacrosanct, but discussion outside the pale could be subpoenaed, so it was in Tigat's best interest if she were to speak under Sacramental Seal. But she could not force it, only offer.

She did not want to be here. She was here because it was her duty. But try as she would to shut off her feelings and concentrate on her duty, it was very hard. She could not remember a time when it was so hard.

"Even if I were to confess something so utterly shocking that you would be sickened by it?" Tigat challenged. "Even if I were to confess that I collected pictures of other women because I am sexually excited by them?"

"Even then,"

"Even if I were to confess that I fantasized about being with those women, and _pleasured_ myself during those fantasies? Even if I were to tell you that I fantasized about _you_?"

Patricia was appalled by the thought, and tried very hard not to let it show in her face. It took her a much longer moment this time, and she had to force herself to answer. "Even then."

Mary stared up at the Priest, trying to read her thoughts, but the woman was as carefully controlled in her own way as a Vulcan. She stared for a long time, trying to see beyond the control, beyond her own pain. Finally:

* * *

"Then I will confess. I'll confess to using—to abusing—my position to gather a stash of private pictures that I never thought anyone would ever _see_! I'll confess to stupidity in allowing someone I trusted—someone I _loved_ —to learn a secret that should never have been shared!" But then her voice hardened.

"But I _will not_ 'confess' to my desires, nor to what makes me what I am!" She looked up at the woman, challenging, but Patricia showed no judgment. "I won't confess to liking women, to being a lesbian, because that is what I _am_! There're billions of us, and there is nothing _wrong_ with it!"

McCabe did not answer. She concentrated on the discipline of her Calling, drawing intensely on her training to endure this for the sake of the woman under her charge, and made her silence draw the seated woman out.

"And yes, I'm ashamed." Tigat admitted regretfully. "Deeply ashamed. Ashamed of using my position for personal gain, ashamed of losing the trust and respect of people I like and respect, but I am _not_ ashamed of my _feelings_!" She stood up, turning away toward the blank wall.

"I'm going to be put off this ship, and that shames me. But I can never look at anyone aboard here ever again. I collected a load of pictures; I invaded privacy; I broke regulations..." She whirled about, anger finally finding vent. "But _Kathy_ made them public! _She_ took revenge on me but hurt over _eighty_ people, and I hope she is caught and _punished_! This is as much _her_ fault as mine, and I hope she _suffers_ for it! _She_ sabotaged the computers; _she_ planted the virus, _she_ -!"

* * *

Mary's words died as she looked into the eyes of the Priest. For a long moment she could say nothing, overwhelmed by anger, but then the anger deserted her and she sat down, able to think of only one thing. "If I hadn't done it, Andi wouldn't have stabbed herself." She looked up imploringly, the pain in her soul finally showing through. "Is she going to be all right?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know."

"Would you find out?" She asked hopefully. "And tell me?"

"Of course."

Mary held her eyes for as long as she could, but then the growing weight of guilt made it impossible. The worst part of this whole disaster was what it had driven her friend to do. "She's going to hate me too, isn't she?"

"Again, I don't know."

Somewhere in all that had happened, Patricia realized her anger with this woman was gone. She no longer had to restrain a burning rage, and offered heartfelt thanks even as she tried to deal with this woman as her Calling demanded; perhaps to even help her, if she could.

She still had to admit that this time she did not want to. Fortunately for the sake of her own soul, she realized, she _had_ to. She had no choice.

* * *

Mary stared at her hands, whispering sadly, "I wish I hadn't done it. I wish I hadn't taken those _damned_ pictures! I wish there were some way I could _undo_ all the hurt!" She looked up imploringly. "But there _isn't_ , is there? Is there any way I can make amends, make it all better? I didn't think I'd hurt anyone with my collection. _I never thought I'd hurt anyone_!"

"I know, child."

Tigat was silent for a long time. "But I'm doomed, aren't I?" She asked morosely. "I mean, I know I'm going to be punished, that's one thing. I invaded privacy, used security systems for personal gain— _but I never meant to hurt anyone_!"

"I know."

"How can I make this _up_ to people? How can I make this _better_?"

* * *

Patricia McCabe looked into the pleading eyes of the young woman, seeing only the pain and misery, and a guilt that would last for untold years. She wished she had an answer.

"I can only offer Absolution for such sins as you wish to be redeemed from." Patricia reminded her, though inwardly she wondered if she was reminding the other woman, or herself. "Penance would be in making things up to the ones you wronged, about eighty people, and that is a painful road. If you want to do it, I will help you travel it, try to strengthen you along the way, but you face a future of much pain—and I cannot promise that some of it will not be physical."

Tigat shook her head. "I'd have to stay, and I cannot do that. And even if I did—I'm _afraid_!" She finished in a whisper. She shook her head miserably. "Even if I did 'confess' to you, even if I could, what I did is breaking the law, breaking regulations, abusing my office. That...secular crime is what they are going to punish me for. But the desire to start, to enjoy, the collection stems from who I _am_! And I don't think being a lesbian is a sin!"

"Neither do I."

Mary looked up at her in utter shock. "What did you say?" She breathed.

"You heard me. I don't think that is a sin. Sin is the knowing that what you are doing is wrong in the sight of God and doing it anyway. You betrayed a trust, and you betrayed your friends, even if no one had ever found out about it. But is your sexuality a sin? In the end, _you_ are the one who has to answer that."

"No. It's _not_!"

"Then let's move on, shall we? You know where you stand, you know what you feel."

* * *

Mary sat for several moments, staring at the far wall, seeking an answer, or help, in unyielding steel. Finally, with the conviction of someone who has made a firm decision, she turned back to McCabe.

"I want a trial."

McCabe gave her a small, ironic smile. "That's guaranteed."

"No, not on Earth. Not at Alpha Centauri Starbase, far away from here. I want a trial _here_ , among the people I...the people that matter."

McCabe shook her head sadly. "You can never get a fair...wait; an _impartial_ trial here. It took going through the entire roster just to find three shifts to guard you, to ensure your safety."

"Nevertheless, I want to be tried here. I want to settle this, the legal aspect, so that I can get on with making amends."

McCabe shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. "This is career suicide."

"My _career's_ over! You think anyone will ever hire me even on Earth for Security duties any higher than dog catcher? I intend to plead 'guilty' and throw myself upon the mercy, such as it is, of the Court."

"That's a serious mistake."

"What choice do I have?"

"A large one. Right now, you are scheduled to be put off the ship onto the first Earth vessel we can possibly rendezvous with, and ultimately be returned to Alpha Centauri, or to Earth. That may take weeks, in which time tempers will cool. You'll be assigned an Advocate who will represent you in your case—you will have full choice in that. You'll be tried by a Board not consisting of anyone you have offended. That is the best you can be offered. Further, before you go I will be available to talk, and anything you say under Sacramental Seal cannot be used at your trial. I am forbidden to reveal anything I hear.

"Then, once all is said and done, if you want to return and face those you hurt, I will speak with the Captain and arrange it."

Mary stared at her for a long moment, and then shook her head. "No. I've made up my mind. I want to be tried here."

"Even though you said you were scared."

"I'll face my fear, and I'll face them. In time, I'll even face Andi and beg her forgiveness."

Patricia McCabe OSJ stared at the younger woman for a long moment, and finally reached a decision. And the decision she reached went against all her convictions, so much so that for the first time in her Clerical life she spoke her mind without reservation or gentle compassion. "All right, I'll bring your request to the Captain. I'll even try to find you an Advocate—somewhere!

"But frankly, I think that you're insane! And if you are planning to use that as a defense, I suggest forgetting about it. Your psych evaluations will be more influential to the Board than one stupid decision!"


	6. Lingering Torment

"Absolutely not!" Captain Archer replied firmly when he'd heard all Rev. Mother McCabe had to say. "Crewwoman Tigat will be transferred to Starbase Two where she will stand Court Martial for her crimes."

Archer had responded to the Priest's request for a meeting, though it was well into Beta Shift and over an hour after his dinner. He'd returned to the Ready Room off the Bridge, meeting her there. Now he was sorry he had eaten such a full meal, feeling it starting to congeal in his stomach.

The woman had stopped briefly in her quarters only long enough to remove and hang up the purple stole, and to make her request to Archer. Now she sat in a cushioned chair opposite him, hardly a picture of repose. Her own tones had conveyed what she thought of this. "I agree that her request is ill advised, but—."

"Mother McCabe, how can you possibly sit there and ask me this? This crew still hasn't recovered from the incident with the Capellans; Ensign Samuels has certainly not done so! You're counseling her; you know how long it will take. This entire crew has been affected by that incident, and I know she will be months in trying to recover.

"Now on top of that, _this_ happens! I have a ship full of crewwomen who are this close -" he held up two fingers virtually touching, "to organized violence. I'm afraid to have her on this ship any longer than I have to because I can't _guarantee_ her safety long enough for her to reach trial. And in spite of all this, she wants a hearing in a public forum?"

"Can't you have a 'closed door' Court Martial, with only people you—."

"There is no such _thing_ as a 'closed door' Court Martial! A Court Martial is a public forum just so there cannot _be_ any unfairness. No one can be unfairly sentenced in front of a roomful of people. Except for considerations of size of the room, I cannot legally keep any interested party out, and only the Mess Hall could possibly contain even a fraction of the 'interested parties'.

"And even if I were insane enough to consider having it here, where would I find an impartial Board? Every person on this ship is mad at her. And while I've plenty of Prosecutors to choose from, where am I going to find an _Advocate_?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered.

* * *

Archer shook his head, standing up. "The matter's settled. She will be put off when we rendezvous with the 'Horizon' en route to Starbase Two twelve days from now. She will be tried there. That's the only way it can be." He stepped around the desk, crossing the small room and stopping by the door, his meaning clear. McCabe turned to look up at him.

"I'll be her Advocate."

Archer stared at her, unable to believe what she had just said. For a long moment he could have heard a pin drop two levels below. "Mother McCabe, what qualifications do you have as an Advocate?" He did not remember reading of any in her official file.

"Not much. I admit I may well be getting in over my head, but if she insists upon this unwise course, I am obligated by the rules of my Order to provide as much assistance as I can. I _cannot_ let her go before a Board undefended."

"And if your in...inexperience," he had almost said 'incompetence', but bit the word back hard, "results in a conviction? I have to tell you that inability of an Advocate to present a case is _not_ grounds for dismissal or holdover. She will not win a reprieve that way." He could see that her confidence was very much shaken by this fact. If she had been hoping for something in favor of her 'client', she now knew this was not the way. It could only work against Tigat.

McCabe could not back down. "I have to do something. I'm obligated to do something."

"Despite what was done to you? Do I need to remind you that over eighty nude pictures of you have been displayed throughout this ship, both of you alone and with Malcolm Reed?"

She drew herself up, and her voice was cold. "No, Captain, you do not have to 'remind' me; and it was quite crass of you to have done so."

"Well, I'm sorry. But this crew has been through a lot; tempers are high, patience is gone...and I do apologize. It _was_ crass."

"I forgive you." She stood up. "So you'll arrange the Court Martial?"

Archer tried not to give vent to the frustration he felt. "I don't know which of you is more insane."

"Definitely me." She said with heavy irony. She started to step toward the door, but he raised his hand to halt her.

They were just inches apart, neither of them giving another.

* * *

"The request for a shipboard Court Martial is denied." McCabe drew a breath to protest, but he cut her off. "There is no way, on this ship, that she can obtain a verdict other than 'guilty'. Seeing that she wants to plead guilty and throw herself on the mercy of the Court, I have to conclude that she wants to commit suicide.

"Right now, though it may be unpleasant, she is in 'protective custody'. Only certain people are authorized to approach her. If by some _miracle_ of law she were to win over these charges, she would be free to move about the ship and to interact with the rest of the crew. I am afraid within a very short time someone will find the opportunity to exact revenge. I will _not_ put that temptation out there for some ill-advised action, nor will I assist in her self-destruction."

"But -."

"Even ignoring the 'collection' she amassed and her motive for doing so—if such a thing is possible—she is charged with dozens of counts of invasion of privacy as well as accessing Security systems without authorization for the purpose of spying on members of this crew for no legitimate reason. Those systems are installed for emergency use; such as when it is necessary to check on conditions following a cataclysmic accident or attack, or to locate an injured crewman who might not otherwise be found in time. Other than that, not even Lt. Reed can use those systems without a good and compelling reason, which I must approve.

"Conviction on these charges will result in imprisonment as well as a Dishonorable Discharge from the Service. She is what, twenty-eight, twenty-nine?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Regardless of the length of her incarceration, what do you think her chances will be of securing employment _anywhere_ following a Dishonorable Discharge? I can assure you they are pretty damned slim!" McCabe's protest died, for she could not deny the truth of this.

"I will not condemn anyone to a life of hopelessness, no matter what they have done or why. The request is denied."

* * *

Patricia was silent for several moments, her left hand touching the cross she wore. She looked down at it, seeking strength, seeking steadiness, seeking...something. "I knew it had to be. I thought it was a horrible idea, but I was obliged to try."

"I know."

"I told her she was committing suicide—I even told her I thought she was insane. Maybe she should even use that as her defense, though I did tell her I doubt it will wash against her psych profiles."

"That's up to her and her Advocate, not us."

"I know." She looked up into his eyes, trying to fight down the stab of guilt she felt over her own 'judgment'. "What of this other woman?"

Archer sighed, deep sadness in his voice. "When I approved Kathy McMahon's transfer request two months ago, I had no idea what was behind it. She had since been assigned to Starfleet Command, where she works as a Computer Operations Technician. She has already been taken into custody by Starfleet Security on an initial charge of Sabotage. Every computer system she has ever had access to is going to be rigorously inspected. Tigat will not be the only one standing Court Martial."

He stepped past her, returning to his desk, thoroughly tired. "And now, Mother McCabe, if there is nothing more..." He looked up, even his expression dismissing, but she did not move. She could see that there was more than dismissal in his expression, something far deeper; something far more painful.

"I didn't realize until just now how much this hurts." She said softly. Her words hung in the air for a long moment; then he nodded.

"On top of what happened last week to Ensign Samuels, which is horrible enough in itself, two members of my crew who I trusted have destroyed their careers; there is a woman in Sick Bay in critical condition from attempted suicide; fully a third of the crew is traumatized and betrayed by someone _they_ trusted, and let's not forget the many men who have emotional ties as well." At his words, her thoughts flashed to Malcolm and the reaction he had had when he finally got off duty and was free to vent his own feelings.

"Yes," he sighed feelingly, "there is more than enough hurt to go around." He looked up at her. "You're the psychologist, the Priest. What can you do?"

Mother Patricia McCabe OSJ had asked herself that question countless times since Hoshi Sato and Elizabeth Cutler had first come to her seeking her help, and now it was hours later and she realized she only had one answer. Whether Therapy or Ministry or Religious Counsel was to be the method, she had only one answer she could give him.

"I can try to help."

* * *

Before he could answer, there was a signal from the annunciation button at the outer door. Archer touched the intercom. "Come." Archer said, wondering what more could go wrong.

Lt. Malcolm Reed entered; his expression grim. "Captain. Reverend." He greeted them. Patricia McCabe glanced at him as he entered, but then she blinked and looked away, unable to meet his eyes for more than a moment.

Archer watched the brief, silent exchange with regret. It had lasted less than a second, but was far too indicative of a much wider and worse problem which was probably being repeated, to a greater or lesser degree, throughout the crew.

It was true that, publicly, he addressed his former fianc in formal terms, but Archer knew their relationship and they had been on at least first name comfort with each other before him—until this incident.

When McCabe had come on board barely a month ago, the taciturn Armory Officer had not been particularly welcoming of his old flame, but over the successive four weeks their relationship seemed to be restoring itself to a reasonable normality.

In public they were consummate professionals, and none who were not privy to it had any clue to their history or what was going on in their personal lives. Publicly they addressed one another as 'Lt. Reed' and 'Reverend Mother'. When among friends with whom they could be comfortable, it was 'Malcolm' and 'Patricia'. Archer had heard that in more personal settings even those names became far more intimate, but that was certainly none of his business.

He certainly knew their first days back together had been stressful. After all, she was the primary suspect in a murder investigation he had been pursuing, but that was the past. Over the past three or four weeks he had seen their relationship coming back on track to whatever it had been when they had known one another for so many years in England, and had planned to be married.

In intense privacy, however, things seemed to be improving as well, if the evidence Archer had seen forcibly displayed on his own Ready Room monitor had been any indication. He vowed once again that they would never know that he knew of that exposure, and that he would use his best efforts to forget that which he had never wanted to see!

But that very 'evidence', circulated generally and unreservedly throughout the starship, was in itself a cause for new, added tension. Their private lives had suddenly become very, very public—along with those of the rest of the crew!

It would be months before this crew recovered. Privately, and glumly, Archer wondered if they ever would.

He particularly hoped that the two before him could find some resolution. They had been so close, and for this to drive a wedge between them would be...he could not think of an adequately strong word!

* * *

"Yes, Malcolm?" He asked, hoping his hesitation had not been as long as it had felt, and that he could also distract the pair from their own discomfort in being together in front of him.

"Sir, I..." Reed stopped, and Archer could see him forcibly gather himself enough to speak. "We've managed to eradicate the virus, and to delete the pictures contained in all its various permutations. I felt it best not to delete the original images, so that they can be used as evidence in her Court Martial, but I have encrypted them so no one will be able to view them without authorization."

He had forcibly avoided looking at Patricia when he spoke of not deleting the original incriminating photos, but now he kept his eyes firmly locked on Archer's, willing himself not to look anywhere else.

"I hear a 'but' in your tone, Malcolm, and I already know I'm not going to like it."

"Yes, sir. We've found indications..." He forcibly gathered himself, not looking at Patricia. "...that while the files were being displayed, they were copied...onto removable media." He finished glumly.

Archer broke the staring lock first, unable to not do so, his eyes flicking to Rev. Patricia, whose face was visibly draining of blood.

* * *

Far from the incident being over, far from the women on this ship being safe or saved; there were now _copies_ of those revealing files in the hands of some one or more unknown and unknowable persons, available for use, viewing and illicit circulation.

Mother Patricia McCabe looked back at Archer, her face white, her breath barely under control as she strained to keep it from shuddering. For many moments no one said a word, and finally she could stand it no longer.

"Permiss—Permission to be excused, Captain?" She whispered. She did not try to speak aloud, knowing if she tried, she was either going to cry or give in to the scream welling up in her.

"Granted." As she took a step, Malcolm reached out solicitously, almost touching her arm, but she drew away, passing by outside his reach. She was almost to the door when Archer stopped her. "Mother McCabe."

She stopped, and then turned very carefully. "Captain?"

"Until we can correct this, _and we will do so_ , tell no one there are any files out there. That's an order."

" _I_ didn't even want to know." She turned away and opened the inner door, but then stopped. When she turned back, there was no longer the sickening fear in her eyes. "If directly asked, I will not lie." She said determinedly, but lest it sound like an outright refusal to obey his order, she added "But I won't volunteer it either."

For a long moment their eyes locked, and each gauged the other. Finally, after a time, Archer nodded. "Then that's all I'll ask, except that you keep me informed."

"Yes, Captain."

"Dismissed."

She left gratefully, but not before exchanging a quick glance with Malcolm. The look took barely a millisecond, but even Archer could see there was a significant communication between them before she was gone.

* * *

The two men were left alone in silence, one that neither of them was willing to break. Archer sat back down and regarded his Armory Officer, but it was a long moment more before he trusted himself to say anything. "I think I'm really beginning to understand you, Malcolm." He told the man grimly.

"Sir?" Reed asked carefully.

"Right at this moment, I would really love to find something to blow up!"


End file.
